Whisper My Secret

by JB Rowley

  The other bright light in her life was Lily whom she often met at her mother’s. It was easy enough to escape by making the excuse that she was taking Albert to visit his maternal grandmother. Even if her mother-in-law disapproved there was little she could say. She had to content herself with a disapproving grunt or twist of the mouth. Sometimes when Myrtle arrived at the flat with Bertie wrapped tightly in a cocoon of baby rugs her mother would be there ready to make cups of tea and scones for her and Lily. At other times they had the flat to themselves while her mother was out. Either way it was a heaven sent relief being able to chat together the way they used to on those few occasions Lily was able to get into town.

  When Lily came in to do her Christmas shopping she stayed over an extra day to spend time with Myrtle. Etti Webb made them a lunch of cold meat and bread. Lily bounced Bertie on her knee. He gurgled at her and tried to pull her hair. He seemed content to let them chat, occasionally reminding them of his presence with a happy squeal. After lunch Myrtle put him down for his sleep, settling him in her mother’s bed flanked on both sides by pillows and cushions to stop him from rolling off. Lily chattered on with news of her family and neighbours while they cleared the table and washed and dried the lunch dishes.

  “The Davidsons have taken a servant,” she said.

  “A servant! Whatever for?” called Etti Webb from the lounge.

  “She’s a darkie,” Lily called back. “She looks after the children and cleans the house, feeds the chooks, that sort of thing.”

  “Good heavens!” Myrtle’s mother exclaimed. “The kids can look after themselves surely, and you don’t need a servant to clean the house and feed the chooks.”

  Lily and Myrtle smiled at each other as they returned to the lounge.

  “Well, Mrs Davidson spends a lot of time helping her husband with all his meetings. He’s on the council now so they have to come into town a lot. Having the servant means they don’t have to take the kids with them all the time.”

  “How old is she?” asked Myrtle.

  Lily sat down in an armchair next to Myrtle.

  “About sixteen or seventeen, I think. They got her from the Home at Cootamundra. They look after orphaned Aboriginal children and train them for domestic service,” said Lily.

  “Very kind hearted those nuns,” said Etti Webb. “Poor girls wouldn’t have much of a chance otherwise. They’d have to spend their lives down on the river in one of those wretched camps or goodness knows where. I see some people are even adopting Aboriginal babies. Their mothers know they’ll have a much better life with a white family.”

  Myrtle gasped.

  “You mean their mothers give them up?”

  Etti shrugged.

  “Well, they’re better off adopted, love. Many children are you know.”

  “But to give your child away!”

  “Well ... they have a different way of looking at things.”

  Etti turned her attention to Lily.

  “How’s your shopping trip going, my dear?”

  Lily giggled.

  “Oh, Auntie Et. I didn’t get half the things I wanted. I’ll have to make another trip in next week.” She grinned at Myrtle. “That means I can come and see Myrtle again.”

  “Well, you two little girls should go out and enjoy yourselves this afternoon,” said Etti.

  Myrtle laughed.

  “Little girls? Mu-um.”

  “Well, you are just a girl really. You’re still young, love. You should be able to have some fun now and then. Why don’t you and Lily go down to The Regent? Mrs Mathews tells me that all the young people are going to see Hopalong Cassidy.”

  Her mother went over to the mantelpiece. She reached into a ceramic biscuit container and took out some coins.

  “Here, love. Nobody can say you took money from Bertie’s allowance. It’s my Christmas treat for you. Go on. You’ll be tied down again before too long.”

  She pressed the coins into Myrtle’s hand.

  “You won’t be able to get out much with two babies to take care of. But that’s your choice of course.”

  Etti Webb had tried to warn her daughter about getting pregnant again too soon. She had once heard the minister’s wife giving advice to Mrs McLean, who had seven children and was looking very weak and pale with the eighth.

  “You must learn to hold yourself back, my dear. That’s what my mother told me,” said the matter-of-fact wife of the minister. “It’s the only way. A man has his rights of course and it wouldn’t do to refuse him. But you can hold yourself back so that the womb is closed off. It might be a little painful but it’s better than having too many babies too quickly. It won’t do your health any good to be having another baby too soon after this one.”

  And so Etti Webb passed on this advice to her daughter confident that its source ensured its effectiveness. But Myrtle didn’t hold herself back. The occasions when Henry asserted his conjugal rights were not all that frequent but when he did Myrtle acquiesced and lost herself in the moment. It was all over very quickly. He seemed to have forgotten the tenderness and loving caresses he once bestowed on her during those forbidden evenings on the couch at her mother’s flat. Now that he had plenty of time and none of the tension that came with the risk of imminent discovery, he seemed determined to get it over and done quickly. Still Myrtle wanted lots of children. She loved Bertie so much she couldn’t think of anything better than having another one just like him. Besides another child would surely mean she and Henry would finally have a place of their own. Having two children in the house would be too much for Agnes Bishop. As much as the older woman doted on her grandson Myrtle could see that at times his boisterous enthusiasm, especially now that he was starting to crawl, was taxing the patience of his paternal grandmother.

  It would be a treat to go to the pictures with Lily. Since she had given birth to Bertie she had been out only twice. Henry’s mother had looked after him on both occasions. Not that he needed much looking after; he slept most of the time. On one occasion Henry had taken her to a show at the theatre and another time to the pictures. Both outings had been immensely enjoyable for her. Henry had been attentive and she allowed herself to hope. Perhaps things would improve between them.

  To her disappointment Henry soon settled back into his routine of spending most of his time at the club. If there was a show on in town he liked to go but somehow he managed to get the tickets only at the last minute. He didn’t seem to understand that she needed time to prepare. She couldn’t just leave Bertie when she was already bathing him and getting him ready for bed. The first time it happened he sulked.

  “Well I’ll just stay home, I suppose. I’d look a right fool going on my own.”

  Myrtle knew she would suffer his anger and sarcasm all evening if he missed the show because of her. She didn’t know what to do. If she asked her mother-in-law to finish getting Bertie ready she’d have to endure scorn and disdain from that quarter for days. Then the telephone rang. Henry ran to answer it. When he returned he was smiling. The look in his eyes reminded her of Bertie when she gave him his favourite rattle.

  “That was Shirley,” he said. “Good old Shirley.”

  Shirley Townsend, tall and slender, with a pretty face, fair hair and blue eyes was a family friend. Henry’s family thought of her as part of their family and Shirley appeared very comfortable in the Bishop household. The Bishops and the Townsends had known each other for years. They attended the same church and when their children were younger they often went on family picnics together. Shirley and Henry had once been close but that ended when Shirley fell in love with a new young doctor in Albury. Shirley’s new romance finished a couple of years later when the young doctor secured a more prestigious posting in Sydney. Shirley and Henry had remained friends and in fact were more like brother and sister.

  “She rang to invite us to a tennis game next week, so I told her about the tickets. She’s offered to go in your place tonight if you can’t make it in time. She’s a good s
port isn’t she?”

  Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief. She had little in common with this elegantly dressed woman and was usually overcome with shyness in her company; however she was grateful that Shirley was available to stand in for her. At least that way Henry didn’t miss out on the show and she didn’t have to put up with him moping and blaming her for missing it.

  There were several other occasions when Henry managed to get good seats at the last minute. When she explained she wasn’t able to finish with Bertie in time he would frown with annoyance and start to sulk.

  Then he’d say cheerfully, “Oh well, I’ll ring Shirley. She might keep me company if she’s not doing anything.”

  Hoping his evenings out would put him in a good humour at home Myrtle did not object. However, despite her efforts to please Henry she couldn’t seem to do a thing right. She expected praise for her efforts to be a good mother to his son but instead he appeared to resent her devotion to Bertie. He was annoyed when the baby cried or needed attention. Agnes fussed over Henry, fetching the paper for him after his father had read it, urging him to take it easy after a hard day’s work. Myrtle wondered what her father would say if he heard office work being described as hard work. Sitting behind a desk all day. That’s woman’s work!

  Henry’s current job at the A.M.P. Society was one of the many jobs his mother managed to find for him. She used family connections as well as her contacts in the church, the CWA and various other organisations. The jobs didn’t seem to last long but his mother was always able to find another one for him. She made excuses for his loss of interest in his various jobs. He needs a challenge. The salary wasn’t good enough. It was never Henry’s fault though, thought Myrtle. When thoughts like that found their way into her mind she felt a twinge of guilt at her disloyalty. Nevertheless she was concerned that his frequent bouts of unemployment coupled with his extravagant spending habits might be holding them back from having a home of their own. One day she suggested to Henry that he might be spending too much money at the club. He went there almost every evening and often stayed for dinner. He laughed.

  “Don’t you worry your silly little head about the money,” he said. “I can take care of my family.”

  She knew that Ma Bishop gave Henry money when he was out of work. He obviously did not want her to know, keeping up the pretence of being the breadwinner. Not wanting to hurt his pride by exposing him she said nothing more. Instead she broached the subject with his mother. Too late she realised her mistake. She should have known better that to expect any support from Agnes Bishop.

  “And why do you think he spends so much time out?” her mother-in-law demanded, fixing her dark eyes on Myrtle. “If he was happy he’d want to stay at home. If a man’s not happy at home it’s the wife who should be doing something about it. You’re the one who should be making him happy.”

  Myrtle gasped, stunned at the unfairness of the attack. She didn’t see what else she could do. She was always careful not to upset Henry and did whatever she could for him. She did all his washing, ironing and mending, prepared his lunches and helped his mother prepare the evening meals. She was loyal and faithful despite his lack of interest in her.

  The memory of that conversation stirred a touch of rebellion in Myrtle. While Henry was praised for his hard work, she on the other hand was expected to work from early in the morning when Bertie awoke until late evening, or as long as Bertie needed her as well as helping with the housework. Not that she minded looking after Bertie in the slightest, but her resentment stirred even more when she thought of how her mother-in-law barely noticed her willing contribution to the household chores, and certainly never expressed sympathy for her when she was tired.

  Yes, she thought, her mother is right. It would jolly well do her good to get out for an afternoon with Lily. She looked at Lily who shrugged and smiled; too polite to pressure her cousin but Myrtle saw the invitation in her eyes. And Lily did look a picture in a new blue floral patterned dress with short sleeves and a slightly flared skirt. At seventeen her cousin was a knockout with clear white skin and large blue-grey eyes. She would be proud to walk down the street with Lily.

  “Bertie’ll be fine here with me,” said her mother.

  Myrtle had no doubts that Bertie would enjoy staying at his grandmother’s for a couple of hours. They adored each other. She took her cousin’s arm and steered her toward the door. Suddenly she wanted very much to go out and spend the afternoon with Lily. It would be just like old times.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You look good, Myrtle. You’ve got your figure back, already.”

  Myrtle looked at her cousin and laughed. “Are you forgetting something, Lily Pilly?”

  Lily looked blank for a moment, opened her eyes wide and covered her mouth with her hand as she recalled Myrtle’s recent news of a second baby on the way. Then she giggled.

  “I am a silly Lily Pilly,” she said when she recovered. “But it’s true Myrtle. You look just the same as you used to. You’ve got your figure back after Bertie and you’re not even showing with this one. No one would ever take you for a pregnant mother!”

  It was true. Myrtle’s slim body hadn’t begun to show evidence of her second pregnancy. And she felt just the same as she used to, young, carefree and happy—at least she did when she was with Lily. They walked arm in arm as they had done in days gone by. Myrtle and Lily were absorbed in each other’s company, oblivious to waves of heat rippling from corrugated roofs and the familiar persistent pests the hot conditions attracted. They waved the flies away automatically. On reaching Dean Street they paused to look at Mate’s window. A large notice in the window merrily heralded a visit from Santa Claus.

  “Isn’t that dreamy?” Lily whispered in Myrtle’s ear. Lily was pointing to a smart green dress in the latest style.

  Myrtle smiled and nodded; her mind still on Christmas. She wondered if Bertie was too young to appreciate Santa Claus. This would be his first Christmas.

  “It would look wonderful on you Myrtle. It’s your colour.”

  Myrtle smiled. A new dress was certainly not something her housekeeping budget would allow her to buy. And where would she wear it anyway?

  “Why don’t you come to the Christmas dance at the Ritz with me Myrtle?”

  “I wish I could, Lily.”

  “Your mother would look after Bertie, wouldn’t she?”

  Yes, her mother would probably agree to look after Bertie, but Myrtle could imagine her mother-in-law’s reaction if she took up Lily’s invitation.

  “Your place is in the home girl, taking care of your husband and baby. You’ve no time for frivolous pursuits. You shouldn’t even be thinking of such things, flaunting yourself and gallivanting around in public.”

  Nothing was ever said about Henry spending almost every evening at his club or out at a show with some friend or other. “Take you out somewhere special when you’re free of the baby,” he would promise as he hastened out the door in his evening attire. She knew it was an empty promise—idle words to ease his guilt and allow him to enjoy himself. She shook her head sadly at Lily.

  “I’d better not, Lily. Henry wouldn’t like it. You go and have a good time.”

  “Oh, Myrtle. I meant with Henry, of course.”

  Startled, Myrtle realised she hadn’t even considered including Henry. Somehow she knew he would make some excuse not to agree to one of her suggestions for a social outing. Once she had mentioned it he would decline and make it absolutely clear that she was not to go either. Myrtle fought back feelings of envy towards her cousin who was still free to enjoy the good times, to flirt, to spend time thinking about fashion and dancing, to dream of a handsome prince. They walked on. As they approached the Regent Myrtle spotted a familiar figure on the other side of the street. Her mother-in-law stood talking with Mrs Brussells and some of her other church cronies. She grabbed Lily’s arm.

  “Quick. There’s Henry’s mother.”

  They hurried along, walking close to th
e buildings. Myrtle hoped the passing groups of people would shield her from Ma Bishop’s eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the Regent. They hurried inside. Lily gasped and stopped on the stairs to catch her breath.

  “You’re not doing anything wrong you know, Myrtle.”

  “That’s not the way she would see it, I’m afraid, Lily.”

  Her cheeks burned from the exertion of their haste in the heat and the danger of discovery.

  “Well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. You’re going to enjoy an afternoon at the pictures and you deserve it,” said Lily.

  Myrtle looked at her sweet, mild mannered cousin, surprised at the passionate determination in her voice. Lily’s growing up, she thought to herself. She also realised Lily was right. What was wrong with going to the pictures with her cousin? Bertie was being well taken care of by her mother after all. She held her head high as they approached the ticket counter. Why should she feel guilty? She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Her fears were realised later that afternoon when she arrived back at the Bishop house. The door to the lounge was slightly ajar as she slipped in through the back door with Bertie after picking him up from her mother’s. She heard her mother-in-law’s voice. Something in the tone caught her attention. Instinctively she stopped and listened, looking at Bertie and urging him to be quiet by holding her finger up against her mouth. She knew in her heart that her mother-in-law disapproved of her yet it still cut deeply to hear the obvious dislike in the older woman’s voice.

  “Running around the street like a couple of schoolgirls. One’s as bad as the other. But this one, she should know better. She’s a married woman for heaven’s sake. Disgraceful! What will people think? Scurrying into the Regent like a couple of frightened rabbits. No doubt hoping I wouldn’t see them.”

  Myrtle heard the rustling of the newspaper and imagined Pa Bishop, relaxed in his chair by the empty fireplace holding his pipe in his left hand, his legs stretched out in front of his chair crossed at the ankle. He was probably seeking refuge in the newspaper in the hope his wife would respect his right to read it and drop the conversation. But he would be disappointed. If Ma Bishop had something on her mind she asserted her right to use her husband as a sounding board. Myrtle waited. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but she stayed to hear his response.